


Drinks Are on Me

by SkartoArgento



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1372843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkartoArgento/pseuds/SkartoArgento
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Damnation, Leon and Buddy meet up in a pub for one last drink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drinks Are on Me

To Buddy’s surprise, the pub was crowded.

People jostled each other to get to the bar, slurring Russian and English between them. Some bore wounds from the recent fighting, bandages wrapped around limbs and bruises raised in ugly purple welts. There was even a group of American soldiers in one corner, and as Buddy watched, they called out to those around them in a kind of friendly arrogance. Their table had accumulated a large amount of drinks, most bought for them by the locals. Everyone was glad the war was more or less over.

He tapped the top of the unopened vodka bottle. The chair opposite sat empty, all attempts by others to take it or occupy it thwarted with a growl or hissed curses from him. The past hour he had been sitting, waiting. Disappointment dropped his stomach even further with every second that passed.

_Where are you?_

A sharp pain in his chest made him cough. Panic, then calm. They said this might happen. Faceless aliens with American voices, Leon’s voice beside them, begging – to him, or them, he didn’t know. Chest pains, spinal pain. Normal. But if he started coughing blood he was in big trouble. Call this number, go and find this person, stay calm, don’t antagonise it –

The stiches itched. He grimaced, scratched the back of his neck instead. Five more minutes, he would wait five more minutes… just like he had promised himself forty-five minutes ago.

Five more minutes, and he would walk back to the small bunker in the abandoned rebel base, open the bottle of vodka, swallow it down in one go and hope it killed him.

A burst of raucous laughter swivelled his head in the direction of the soldier’s table. One had started singing something about a woman, plenty of English curses present.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Someone had dropped down into the chair. He curled his lips away from his teeth, opened his mouth and prepared to tell them to go away, he was saving that seat for someone else.

He was saving it for the man that was sitting in it.

Buddy’s mouth stayed open. Leon watched him, one eye hidden behind his hair and a smile teasing. His stubble had grown a little longer over ten days, and purple smears under his eyes almost made Buddy yawn.

“You’re late.” The words came from his own lips, but his brain had barely processed them. Leon laughed, and Buddy fought from sobbing. The tips of his fingers felt numb against the bottle.

“Yeah, sorry. We were up in the north with the Russians, still trying to smooth some stuff over. Few groups up there weren’t too happy with our involvement. I think we managed to convince them we weren’t coming to enslave them. You don’t seem to have that kind of problem here,” he said, gaze shifting to the soldiers as they started up another bawdy verse.

“No… everyone’s been… fine.”

“And how have you been?”

Buddy looked down at the table, pretended to consider the way the wood worked under his fingernail, and thought about telling Leon everything.

_I’ve been hoping every time I go out that someone will put a gun to my head and kill me for the food in my hand. I’ve been trying to drink myself to death. And I’m –_

“I’ve been fine.”

The long pause contradicted him, mocked him. And Leon was anything but an idiot. Buddy sneaked a glance up at him from the table. Leon had stopped smiling, and reached across to grab one of the small glasses. He took the bottle without asking, opened it and poured each of them a generous amount. “Yeah?” The vodka vanished as quickly as it had come. “I’ve been fine too.”

Buddy had to smile. “So, we’re both fine.” He knocked his own drink back, refilled them both and held his glass up. “A toast?”

Leon nodded, and then he was the one staring at the table. Buddy paused, faces flashing through his mind. Irina. JD. “To… to –”

“— everyone,” Leon said, clinking their glasses together. His smile had not returned.

“Everyone.” His repeat was barely more than a whisper. The alcohol spread in his stomach, sent warmth to his fingers. He cleared his throat, and Leon looked up with a frown when he started to cough.

“The Plaga –”

“Gone. So they say. The coughing is just irritation. It should… it should go, eventually.”

“Good.” Leon took another drink and Buddy considered telling him to slow down. No, damn it, there was a reason they were in a pub with a bottle of alcohol, and it wasn’t to moderate themselves. Sometimes, people needed to lose control to help them stay sane.

_I’ve been losing control a lot lately._

“Why the scowling?” he said. Leon tilted his head even as he poured another glass.

“What?”

“You stopped smiling. It looks – I mean… you should do it again.”

“You first.”

He bared his teeth, exaggerated. Leon snorted, but his lips twitched up in reply. Buddy’s own smile became a little more genuine. The vodka nudged his confidence forward, and he took a deep breath, ignoring the tickling in his lungs.

“There’s a… lake.”

“There’s a lot of lakes.”

“Shut up, let me talk!”

Leon smirked, slid further down in his chair and then crossed his feet on the table.

“Anyway. There’s a lake, about three miles outside the city. We… Irina and I… we used to go there. Sometimes took JD. It’s usually deserted, especially now. Old trees everywhere, an abandoned shack we used to sit in if it was raining.”

The liquid courage retreated as Leon met his eyes. Blue. Long lashes. Almost feminine. “I thought, if you wanted, we could go there. A little tourist thing for you. It’s a kind of landmark here. At this time of year, the trees –”

“Buddy,” Leon said, his voice soft, “I’m going back to America tomorrow.”

Each word kicked him in the stomach.

“Oh. Of course.”

He pressed a hand to his mouth as the vodka threatened to sluice back up his throat. Everything around him blurred.

 “Hey…”

Leon’s hand was on his shoulder, fingers squeezing. Even through his jacket he could feel their warmth. He opened his eyes to Leon’s face close to his.

“Buddy –”

“Get off me.”

Leon’s hand squeezed again and Buddy smacked it off his shoulder. His cheeks felt hot, and the corners of his eyes began to sting. Leon’s frown of concern made him take a step back, fists clenched. “Go then, American,” he said, the words coming out as a hiss. “Go back to your precious country. We don’t need you. I don’t need you. Just do what Americans do best – make a  mess and then leave someone else to clear it up. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be _fine_.”

The shot glass was back in Leon’s hand, brimming. And then not. Hair formed a shield over an eye. “You’ve had too much to drink, Buddy.”

Glass bounced as his fist hit the table. “You want to go, right? What are you waiting for? _Go!_ ”

A heartbeat’s worth of silence rippled around them. Heads turned in their direction, but he didn’t care. Questions and pleas formed, but none made it out of his mouth.

Leon said nothing.

Something snapped in Buddy’s head. One quick movement, and his chair was on its side. Another, and the wood of the door was under his hand, then slammed open –

The cold hit him like an icy pickaxe to his chest. He took several deep breaths, staggered across the street and leaned against a brick wall, under the light of a streetlamp. Nausea swirled. He bent his head, braced himself with one hand, waited for the vodka to make a reappearance.

_If I hadn’t done what I did… would he have wanted to stay?_

Leon. Damn him. Damn his morals. Damn his _face_ , and the way that he _walked,_ and hisself-righteous _whining –_

“You going to throw up?”

And his fucking concern.

Brick against his forehead. Freezing. Good, gave his body some distraction from the curling in his stomach. “Get out of here.”

“Ah, come on, Buddy. I couldn’t live with myself if you fell over your own feet and smacked your head on the ground. Not unless I was there to take a picture, anyway.”

“Do you always have make such stupid jokes?”

“Always.”

He closed his eyes. “Svetlana got away.”

“I know.”

“No one knows where she is.”

“Buddy.”

The air threatened snow. He braced his arm against the wall and turned. The streetlight stretched the shadows of Leon’s hair over his face. “And what am I supposed to do now, Leon? Just move on with my life, forget about Irina, JD, Ataman?

“You live. And letting revenge eat at you isn’t living, believe me.”

“Everyone I know is dead! They didn’t leave, or walk away. They’re not coming back. I have _nothing_!”

Hands pushed him against the wall so hard the breath ripped from his lungs. Fingers bunched in the front of his jacket, tight with fury. Leon’s mouth sneered an inch away from his face, voice colder than the air.

“I didn’t save your life so you could wallow in self-pity. If you want to die so badly, I’ll leave you here in the gutter. You can drink yourself to death, put a bullet in your head, whatever. I’m not going to waste my time trying to help someone who’ll just throw it all away because he’s too _selfish_ to carry on!” The wall bumped against the back of his head as Leon shook him. “Fuck it, Buddy, what the hell would they think of you? Huh? JD, and Irina – you really think they’d want you to just give up on everything? And why?”

“Because I’m scared.” His hands closed over Leon’s. They were warm, far warmer than they should have been. Fingers relaxed against his, but he didn’t let them go. “The last thing that’s tethering me is leaving tomorrow. And I… will never see it again.” He squeezed his hands, and the others twitched in return. “I’m not going to lie to myself. You won’t come back here, will you?”

Leon’s eyes found the floor. All the answer he needed.

“I don’t blame you.”

Leon tilted his face down and guilt crawled instead of nausea in Buddy’s stomach. He _was_ selfish. Did he really expect Leon to throw everything away and stay here, just because Buddy was afraid to be alone?

He let go of Leon’s hands, and a lump formed in his throat. The apology he wanted to give came out as a silent white plume. Leon wasn’t moving. His fingers wanted to curl under his chin, stroke against the stubble there and tilt his head up. The alcohol whispered in the back of his mind. It wouldn’t just be for his attention. Buddy wanted to kiss him.

Breath stopped. His mind blanked out for a moment as his body encouraged him. He could slide his hands across Leon’s hips, lean forward that tempting inch and press their lips together. What would be the worst that could happen?

_He could hit you. He could shoot you. He could turn around, walk off into the night hating you._

And then –

_You would never get over him._

The agony would haunt him, as it did with Irina. But at least he knew where Irina was – quietly rotting in a churchyard on the edge of town. Leon would slip from him, and he would wonder until the day he died –

“You’re a bastard.”

Blue eyes blazed up at him, the red around them turned them to a bright azure. The passion there paralysed everything except his heart, which thudded loud in his ears. He couldn’t speak. He wanted to run. He wanted to remain frozen where he was. He wanted to crush Leon close, take him against the wall, stay with their bodies wrapped around each other forever.

“Leave, Leon,” he whispered. “Please. Just go.”

Those eyes came closer. Held him there.

“Or what?” A vice of flesh wrapped around each wrist, constricted. He hoped there would be bruises. The next two words were hard, deliberate, and not rhetorical. “ _Or what_ , Buddy?”

He slammed their mouths together in a painful clash of teeth.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with what his body was doing. Hair tangled in his fingers and one hand pressed hard into the small of Leon’s back. God, the man felt so damn _hot_ , like a blazing ember in the middle of snow. And fuck, the scent of him, the taste – it was almost enough for Buddy to forget… everything. Including the fact that Leon was an American agent, and Buddy was kissing him under a streetlamp in the middle of a city.

Hands bunched the front of his shirt. He broke the kiss, panting, eyes closed. Leon was going to kill him, Buddy was fairly sure of that. He hadn’t asked, but the man probably had a wife, a girlfriend at the very least. Maybe even kids. He didn’t want to open his eyes and see disgust or rage. But now at least he had let Leon know how he felt.

Lips brushed his ear, and he flinched from the expected threats.

“I can stay for the night.”

His eyes snapped open. Not only had that been the furthest thing from a threat, it had also headed in a completely different direction. Did he mean that in a sexual way, or was it a companion kind of thing?

He opened his mouth, no idea on how to phrase that question, but then a voice from behind Leon made him close it fast. Russian. He peered around Leon to see two guards watching, and the cold penetrated his stomach. Damn.

_“I said, what’s going on?”_

Buddy swallowed, glanced at Leon. He doubted he was even aware of the danger. The guards came closer, guns rising in suspicion. Leon turned then, his hands releasing Buddy. Panic rose in a silent wave. Shit, if they thought Leon was going to reach for his gun –

“Hi there. I’m American. And I’m really, really drunk,” said Leon, throwing an arm around Buddy’s shoulders. A slur slipped around his words that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Buddy, tell them I’m drunk.”

The words stumbled from his mouth. _“My friend is drunk. And American. He apologises.”_

The guards said nothing, raised their eyebrows.

“Tell them you’re taking me home.” A thumb slid up the back of his neck, made the hair there stand on end. Leon’s voice dropped to almost a purr. “Tell them, Buddy.”

_“I- I’m going to take him home so he can’t cause any more trouble.”_

One of the guards grunted, gestured with his gun. _“Move on, then. Quickly.”_

Buddy nodded, tugged at Leon who was waving at the guards. Once they had disappeared around the corner, he clenched his jaw, anger more directed at himself. What a fool.

 “If they had seen that, they would have arrested us.”

“You started it.”

“I… made a mistake. Forgot myself.” He couldn’t look at Leon.

“Glad I managed to have that effect.” A hand stroked down his back. “Want to forget a little more?”

“We should wait. There’ll be more guards.”

“How far away is your place anyway?”

“My… where I’m staying. It’s on the edge of the city, near the river. Not too far to walk.”

Leon said nothing more, but bowed his head against the sudden wind that whipped his hair around his face. It nipped Buddy’s skin, and he remembered how that time last year he had a scarf, a nice one, cashmere, one that Irina had bought him, how it had been stolen in the middle of the night by one of his fellow rebels –

Warm fingers slid around his. He looked to the side, saw Leon watching him with a smile, but those eyes, oh God. So, so sad.

“I wish you could come back to America with me.”

“Don’t say that.”

The fingers squeezed and those sad eyes looked away. Then Leon’s voice, tight with desperation.

“I always get too attached.”

He squeezed back. “I know.”

And he did.

As they walked, it began to snow.

 

 

**-:-  
**

“Do you see that house?”

“Which one? That one?”

“No, that one. Next to it. Red door.”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“That used to be my house. Someone else lives there now.”

Leon shook small snowflakes from his hair, but Buddy let his lie. He stared as he had a thousand times before. So utterly foreign now. Bombs had left the street scarred. Soldiers shifted from the shadows every so often to flick a torch in their eyes and tell them to move on. Leon’s hand brushed the back of his.

“Buddy, we should go.”

Buddy stepped a little closer to the house. A familiar path turned alien, rejected him. Black in the windows. No doubt the occupants had fled, or maybe they were burning in pits with the other corpses.

“After the school was attacked, I left for a few days. Had to. Went to that lake, didn’t eat, didn’t do anything.” Leon’s breath was on the side of his neck, arm around his back. “Then I came here and they told me… they said it wasn’t my house anymore. All my things, her things… our things. I couldn’t even go and get them. They weren’t mine either. One of Svetlana’s generals lives there now with his family. The life that I should have had.”

“ _Buddy_. Come on.”

“I thought about killing him.” His voice choked, and melted snowflakes burned on his cheeks. No, not snowflakes. “I thought about going in while he was asleep, cutting his throat while his wife slept beside him, his children in the next room. Ataman said no. Wait. How could I wait?” Leon’s eyes found his. Buddy’s gaze slid away, and he began to walk up the steps to the front door. If he went in, would everything be as he left it? The same wallpaper, same carpet – would the clock that Irina’s mother had bought them still be hanging on the wall of the living room, ticking away and keeping time for someone else?

 A hand slid around his wrist. It took a moment for him to realise he was touching the doorknob.

“That’s enough,” said Leon in his ear. He drew Buddy away from the door. “Enough.”

“Do you think I’m a monster?”

“I think you’re human. And I think we need to go, unless you want to spend all night out here. Personally, I could do with a little warming up.”

Buddy nodded. His jacket wasn’t the thickest, and the cold had bled through the material. He looked at the door once again, and then turned, walked back down the steps.

“You shouldn’t come here again.” His shoulder was jostled by Leon’s. “The memories are in your head. You don’t need to come back here.”

He said nothing.

Leon grabbed his arm. “ _Promise me_ , Buddy!”

“Why? Are you worried I’d kill him? Make his wife and kids watch?”

The grip bit into his skin. He didn’t pull away. “That the kind of person you think I would let walk around, Buddy? The kind of person who would put a human life over bricks and mortar? The kind of person who would fuck up a family, just for revenge?” Fingertips pressed into his jaw, forced his head up. “Look at me. That the kind of person that _you_ would let walk around?”

Irina smiled at him from the past. The children they could have had. His eyes met Leon’s and the disgust in them made him cringe.

“No.”

“If you keep coming back, the feelings are going to build until you can’t take it anymore.” The touch became gentle, and then the fingers slid away. “Trust me.”

He sighed, looked back at the house. His house. “You sound like Ataman. Let’s go.”

“Buddy…”

“I promise. I promise never to go back to my own home. There. That’s what you wanted, right?” He hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. A streetlight flickered near them, the sporadic flakes of snow blinking in and out. Leon tilted his head, watched the darkness around them.

“I just don’t want to see you hurt. I never want to see anyone hurt.”

“Is that why you’re doing this?”

“You need convincing?” Leon smiled, unzipping his jacket. Buddy opened his mouth, began to ask him what he was doing. Leon’s hand disappeared inside, then withdrew with his flask. He opened it, took a gulp, and then offered it to Buddy. “Keep the buzz going? This snow’s really getting to me.”

“It’ll be gone by morning. Not cold enough to settle yet.”

Their fingertips brushed when he accepted the flask. He drank, welcomed the way it burned down his throat. When he held it back out, Leon waved it away.

“You hang on to it. Now,” he said, giving Buddy a pat on the back, “which way?”

***

The stink of damp and mildew hit them when he opened the door. Stodgy and clinging compared to the clean, knife-edge air of outside.  Buddy turned on the light switch, and a dim bulb spluttered into life. One quick glance to take stock. No one else had been in there. His blankets were still crumpled on the small cot, his guns propped against the wall; things that were worth more than money to people scrabbling around to live.

A heavy creak of metal against metal told him Leon had pushed the door closed. Buddy waited for some sort of jibe, a little light-hearted crack about how he should hire a maid, or maybe asking if he paid his rent to the mould, but there was only silence from behind.

Leon slipped past him, his head turning as he surveyed the room. He reminded Buddy of a predator on the lookout for anything that could disturb its hunt, movements more feline than soldier.

Buddy’s knees creaked as he sat on the cot. Better. His constant sipping from the flask was starting to make him weave. His back hit the wall, legs dangling over the edge, and he wondered how they would both fit. A quick glance at Leon, who seemed more interested in the bathroom door, and Buddy felt the alcohol tug at his groin. Were they even going to –?

“What’s in here?” Leon had touched the handle, but wasn’t looking back at him. Buddy rested his chin in one hand.

“Bathroom. Toilet, sink. Mirror. Not big enough to hide an army in, I promise.”

“Just don’t want to be interrupted, that’s all.”

Leon opened the door, ducked his head inside, then closed it again. He did the same with the pantry, but pulled his head back, nose wrinkled.

“Dead rat in there.”

“Another one?” He wasn’t surprised.

“Not much food, either…”

All Buddy could do was shrug. “Used to be twelve of us in here. We had to ration, but there wasn’t a lot to begin with.”

“Twelve of you?” Leon’s brow creased as though trying to work out how they could possibly all fit. “The elders –”

“Were better hidden. Didn’t have to worry about being shot in the middle of the night. Or freezing to death. Well, except for Ataman, but he was our mentor. We looked after him.”

“I’m sure you did.”

He knew the unsaid words that hung between them. _Didn’t stop him from injecting himself with a plaga. Didn’t stop you from having to shoot him._

He let the flask drop to the floor and his hands gripped the side of the cot. Leon stared, one eye hidden, and then looked away, at the damp walls, the dirt floor.

“You know there’s refugee camps set up outside the city, right? Red Cross? They can give you food and something more comfortable to sleep on than that thing –”

“I’m staying here.”

A weighted silence. Leon shook his head, so slight it could have just been to move the hair out of his face. “All right, ghost-Buddy, haunt here all you want. Could get yourself a sheet and some nice chains to clang around.”

“Ghosts don’t stay in one place.” Buddy lowered himself down on the cot, stretched out like an offering. “They stay with you.”

“Oh, God, don’t get philosophical on me. Bad enough I’m hanging around with a terrorist. If you start quoting Shakespeare, I’m leaving, got it? Hey, this thing work?”

He looked up to see Leon tapping the small kerosene heater in the corner with his foot.

“Needs more fuel.”

“So where is it?”

He gestured to the pantry. “In there. The purple bottles.”

Muttering. Then the sound of the door being opened. “You mean the purple _bottle_. This is the last one.”

He glanced over as Leon came back, shaking the bottle at him. The kerosene sloshed around. Not even a full bottle. Dammit.

“You going to get some more tomorrow?”

“If I can find any, maybe.”

“Not ‘maybe’, Buddy.” Clanking. Tin scraping, the glug of liquid, and then the mild stink of kerosene fumes. “You _will_ get some. Last thing I want is for you to catch hypothermia in here.”

“Fine.”

More tinkering, and a grunt from Leon. “Okay. Move your ass, I want to sit down.”

Buddy sat up, flinched when Leon plopped himself down right beside him. He could feel the heat from Leon’s thigh against his own, and cleared his throat. His hands had no idea where to put themselves, so he left them clasped together on his lap. What was he supposed to do? Was Leon waiting for him to make the first move? Should he?

“Buddy.”

He turned his head and Leon’s lips nearly brushed his. A jolt shot through him and he tilted his face down. Leon patted his back.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything.”

Panic scrunched his stomach into a tight cold ball. He grabbed Leon’s arm as though he had stood to leave. “No. I want to do something. I just… don’t know what.”

Saying ‘you’re not a woman’ would be embarrassingly obvious.

“You didn’t have any problems before.”

Buddy stared at his hands, ached to feel skin under them. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What, you need to tie me up again?”

The smile in Leon’s voice made him look up. One of his hands was gripped by another, pulled over to rest on Leon’s knee. Buddy blinked, felt his breath catch. “How is this so easy for you?”

Leon leaned in close, his lips brushing heat over Buddy’s neck. They tickled along his pulse and a tongue flicked out to taste him. Buddy slid his hand around to Leon’s side, closed his eyes and shuddered. Fingers slipped against his stomach and the light pressure felt like a request. Hair pushed against his jaw and he turned his face, buried his nose in it.

Leon pulled away and Buddy groaned at the loss, but a mouth met his, as gentle as the fingers. This wasn’t so different to being with a woman. Maybe all the stubble made it a bit more fuzzy, but he recognised the same allowance of control. Buddy pushed forward, the thrill of being so intimate with  another person again sending his blood pounding in his head.

A faint chuckle against his lips. Buddy looked down, saw his hands had come up to cup at Leon’s chest.

“Missing some things there, Buddy-boy.”

He cleared his throat, moved his hands down to rub against denim. Cold metal brushed against his thumb. Leon’s zipper. Heat pulsed against his fingertips, and when he pushed a little deeper, something twitched under his hand. He pulled away.

“Buddy?”

“I’m sorry.” He looked to the side, avoided Leon’s eyes. “This is all strange.” 

“Want to stop?”

“…No.”

Leon’s palm cupped the side of his face and fingertips tickled against his ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you out.”

Before he could say anything, Leon reached down and gave one firm stroke to the front of his trousers. His hips jolted up. A wheezy gasp left him. His hand grabbed at the wrist, fingers digging into skin.

 “ _Jesus_ , Leon!”

A smirk curved the lips in front of him. “Sit back against the wall.”

Leon’s voice had a husky edge to it, and Buddy shivered as he complied. Leon stood, turned, and kneeled, his hands sliding over Buddy’s knees and nudging them apart. Blood rushed, hot and strong, between Buddy’s legs. A cheek rubbed against the inside of his leg and he hissed, head falling back. The ceiling filled his vision with cobwebs. That touch tickled, crept up his leg.

“You’ve done this before,” Buddy said. Not an accusation, just amusement. “This the sort of thing you usually do during missions? Invade a foreign country and seduce the natives?”

Pressure against his stomach, the clink of his belt being opened.

“Only if they’re handsome.”

“I’m flattered.”

His zipper next, and the cold air swept across his skin. Adrenaline flew to the tips of his fingers and toes. The cobwebs blurred. He felt heat curl around his erection, free him from the confines of his trousers.  A groan rumbled deep in his throat.

“Hey.”

He looked down, and seeing Leon hovering between his legs sent a jerk  of electric pleasure that had him twitching in Leon’s hand.

“What?”

“I want you to watch.”

The words slipped over him like oil. He let a loud exhale escape him, and brought a shaking hand up to touch the side of Leon’s face. Stubble rasped, and his palm was nuzzled. His fingers tangled in hair. _Oh, Jesus._

Lips touched the tip of him. Tested. He made a small noise of encouragement, somehow managed to keep himself from swearing long and hard.

More testing, a tongue flicking out to taste him. Pleasure shot down his cock. This time he _did_ swear in a hushed growl behind his teeth.

Leon’s eyes met his.

Buddy swallowed. For a heartbeat, Leon didn’t move. And then –

Fuck, _fuck_.

Hot. Wet.

He threaded his hands through Leon’s hair, felt him grab a rhythm with his lips and tongue. No dilemma of ‘right or wrong’ nipped at his conscience. This simply _was_. Pleasure as a fact. He didn’t need to answer to anyone.

Leon blinked up at him, lips swollen and tight around his cock. Was this the sort of thing that happened a lot in America? Did men regularly comfort each other in such a way? Ataman had once told him that Americans were degenerate scum, hovering on the edge of every country like wolves around a deer, waiting for that first sniff of oil.

 _“They’re vultures, Sasha,”_ he had told him, growling every word. _“They’ll show up here sooner or later, mark me.”_

And one had. And he was currently kneeling between Buddy’s legs, sucking as though his life depended on it.

Scum?

Degenerate?

Leon released him with a final quick lick. His cheeks were tinged pink, and his left hand had disappeared below the cot.

“Don’t like it when you get too quiet there, Buddy-boy.”

He stretched, nonchalant, still held by blue eyes.

“Just thinking of all the stories the elders told us about the great USA.” Arousal played his body, made him think dirty. “They were right when they said you made good cocksuckers.”

Leon stood, his hands on Buddy’s shoulders and his face pressed so close they were almost kissing.

“And I was told Russians were only good for a quick fuck. Wanna see who’s more on the mark?”

Buddy smiled before he struck. He grabbed Leon’s jacket, pulled him down. A yelp, and Leon stumbled, fell against him. One swift movement was all it took to pin his upper body to the cot, and then another to heave his legs on there. He covered Leon’s body with his own.

Breath scalded the side of his neck. His exposed erection rubbed against denim. “I’m not Russian,” he whispered into Leon’s ear, “so I think I win.”

“Funny, ‘cause I don’t feel like I’m losin’, _Slavvy_.”

“You’re under _me_.” He pushed his hips down, felt Leon press back against him. “As far as I am concerned, that means that _I_ win.”

“Awww, poor Buddy.” Leon reached up, patted his cheek. “So naïve…”

“What?” He pressed harder. Leon reached down, slid a hand into the pocket of his jeans. Out came a square of foil and a plastic packet. They were tapped against his nose, and Leon smiled. The hand patting Buddy’s cheek began to stroke.

“Maybe this is a win-win situation.”

He went cross-eyed to stare at the condom and packet of what was apparently ‘MediChoice lubricating jelly’.

“Degenerate, I knew it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re such a good little Catholic boy, aren’t you, you Russian prick?”

No term of endearment could have had such an effect.

His kiss drew blood, the sweet metal taste driving his arousal. Leon made a small noise against his lips and he devoured it, swallowed, made it a part of him. Something primal and insane built inside.

It had never been like this with Irina. It had never been like this with anyone.

He reached behind him and dragged one of the blankets up and over them. Their own little bubble. Would do until the kerosene heater drove off the chill. Leon nuzzled against the side of Buddy’s neck, then nudged up and reached down to wriggle a leg out of his jeans and underwear. The edge of the cot helped with his shoes. His shirt and jacket stayed on.

Skin against skin. Buddy groaned and rocked his hips, eyes closed, erection slipping against the tight muscles of Leon’s stomach. It would be so easy to stay like this, sliding himself against Leon until he came, and he knew it would be such a sweet finish, so very sweet –

“Hey,” the condom and lubricant were pushed into his palm, “know what you’re doing, right?”

So damn sure, so damn confident. How did he manage it? Wasn’t Leon’s heart pounding in his throat too? Weren’t his hands trembling, adrenaline and lust curling around each other like writhing snakes and spitting fire into his groin?

Buddy leaned back on his heels, flipped the packets over.

“Yes. I think so.”

“‘Think so’?” Leon’s smile wasn’t mocking. “Give me your hand. There you go.” He was guided between Leon’s buttocks, fingers against his, pressing gently against yielding flesh. “Here. Fingers first. Go slow, use the lube. And if it hurts, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

He smiled back, shaky. Leon took his own hand away, settled himself down on the bed. His legs hooked over Buddy’s hips.

The packet tore between Buddy’s teeth. His fingers, slick and cold, began to explore. He had nowhere to look but Leon’s face, watched as he sighed and tilted his head back as Buddy pushed inside him. He had been expecting more of a reaction. Leon’s eyes met his, and he wondered how many others had come before him, how many others had stroked the same skin and kissed the same lips. He wondered if he would be forgotten among the haze of previous lovers.

Leon made a small noise, so tiny and helpless it startled Buddy out of his thoughts. He dipped his fingers, twisted.

That sound again.

Blood roared in his ears. He pinned Leon to the cot, weight resting on his hands, and stared down at him. Leon narrowed his eyes and glared right back, but a smile teased the corners of his mouth up.

“Well? We don’t have all goddamn night.” He thrust his hips up, rubbed. The hint of a plea coated his words. “Come _on_ , Buddy-boy.”

The nickname was beginning to grow on him.

He rolled the condom on. Still shaking. Dammit. Heat melted through his clothes as he leaned over Leon. He wished he was naked, but their breath still streamed white into the air. Too cold for that.

Warmth strangled him when he pushed his hips forward. He gulped in a lungful of air, slipped in another inch. Leon stayed quiet, and Buddy wondered if it hurt, if he was even doing any of this right. One more nudge, and their hips met.

He stilled. Savoured. A familiar sensation, yet… different. Fingers ran through his hair and cupped the side of his face. Under him, Leon tilted his head back, throat bared, and whispered his name with a passion that Buddy had never heard pass his lips before. He thrust in response, surprised them both.

Pleasure curled between his legs, flooded from where he connected to Leon. He couldn’t stop shivering, movements jerky, and the whole thing was insane, _insane_ , because before he had never even considered this. Never. Not even when he was curled up with the other independence fighters at night, trying to stave off the deadly chill and hoping that everyone would wake up in the morning, when he missed more than just Irina _,_ he missed the feel of her beneath him and the way she would grip him, her hands on his back and his in her hair –

Leon made a noise of frustration, strained towards something he couldn’t reach on his own. Different. Familiar. Fingers slid under Buddy’s shirt, traced the gash in his chest, caressed the stitches. There would be a scar. They had told him that much.

To him, it would be a symbol.

The cot squeaked when Leon pushed back against his body. That tight squeeze again, that burst of pleasure. His movements became smoother. This… this was what he had been missing.

A hand found his, locked their fingers together. He blinked, unsure, then caught Leon’s eye. A quick flash of a smirk, and then the words _‘it’s okay’_ werebreathed into his ear. He groaned, found Leon’s pulse with his tongue and felt the beat against his lips. His thrusts matched that rhythm, solid and sure now.

Leon cried out, body arched. Buddy’s hand was released, and the next thing he knew, nails were digging into his back, the firm sting ripping a growl from his throat. His hips jerked harder. Faster. Close, so close, and he didn’t give a damn how long it had been. He touched muscles. Nipples. Felt the ridge of Leon’s ribs and then even further, across the taut clench of his stomach. Hair brushed his fingertips, led him down to something hot, hard. He almost stopped again. Leon’s soft mewls urged him on, and, trembling, Buddy wrapped his hand around that steel heat. It twitched, echoed by Leon’s buck. Pre-come slipped over his fingers.

But so addictive.

He soared higher towards his climax, tried to hold off as long as possible. It felt like something that should last forever, something that had no right to end, not when everything else was so shit.

Leon moaned his name again and fighting became an impossible dream. Muscles strained, hips flexed. His skin felt too tight, too stretched, like his flesh wanted to burst –

A strangled noise ripped from his throat. Leon whispered something, but the words were suffocated under the pounding of his heartbeat.

He came hard, eyes closed.

Fingernails pricked pain into his back, anchored his mind even as his body shuddered, exploded. A sob against his cheek. The heat in his hand throbbed.

Pleasure clenched, then released.

Shaking. Panting. Couldn’t stop. Dark reds and oranges paraded behind his eyelids. His forehead found Leon’s shirt, and the scent of sweat filled his nose. Deep breaths.

Fingers stroked though his hair, and a small laugh made him grunt in response.

“Fuck, Buddy,” Leon said, his chest heaving against him, “you okay?”

He grunted again, all his lungs would let him do. The muscles in his legs trembled. Arousal jolted his groin in small waves. He was still buried inside Leon, and the tight grasp made his head swim.

He waited for the shame. The mortification. The ghost of Irina who would appear and wail ‘ _Why?_ ’ into his ear. But… nothing. There was Leon, there was the passion, and then there was a spark of something. Not grief. Something more freeing.

The whole thing no longer seemed quite so insane.

Leon stretched, sighed, and Buddy took the hint. He slipped out and peeled off the condom. Come dripped from his fingers. He stared at it, and then looked down, took in the image of Leon underneath him, still panting. Their eyes met. Silence froze the air between them. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. What the hell was he supposed to say?

The condom dropped over the side of the cot. He could deal with that later.

A squeak of springs and Leon sat up, pulled off his jacket and shirt. The smooth skin of his neck tempted. His arm flung out over the side, fingers spread.

“Air’s warming up, that’s good. Those heaters work fast.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say other than _I was just inside you, isn’t that strange?_ And then thought that maybe he should calm down before he opened his mouth.

Leon shifted on his side, patted the space next to him. Barely enough room to fit them both, and when Buddy settled himself down and pulled the blanket back over them, his body wanted to tilt and send him spilling onto the floor. A hand crept over his ribs, pressed against the small of his back. Pressed him against Leon. His face buried into the crook of Leon’s neck. Hair tickled his cheek. Their legs tangled together, and in a slow, dopey way he was amazed at how well everything _fit_.

After Irina had died, the world had become a jigsaw where the pieces were all wrong. For him, everything had stopped. But people around him still laughed. They lived. After a couple of weeks, JD had laughed again too. He remembered snapping at him, a red mist in his eyes and blood in his mouth, but not the exact words. All he knew was that by the end his cheeks were wet and JD was cringing in a corner.

His pride had never let him apologise. And now he would never be able to.

Leon yawned in his ear, and murmured something. Endearing. Buddy nuzzled against his neck. Reminded him of how he used to hold Irina, after they had come home, eaten, cuddled on the sofa and talked about how Gema was the first to count to one hundred, how Marco and Pavel had gotten into a fight over the Lego _again,_ after they had made love and gone to bed. How they would just lie there, bodies entwined, and the pleasure of knowing that they weren’t alone in the world.

“Don’t go to sleep,” Buddy said, and one of his hands slid down Leon’s chest. A promise. “I don’t want this to be over.”

“I know.” Another yawn. “Jus’ drowsy. Hey,” Leon sat up, his hair sticking up on one side, “I’m hungry. You hungry?”

“Not really.” A lie, one he felt guilty for, but he didn’t know where his next meal was coming from. Would he be able to deny Leon if he went rummaging around amongst his very limited supplies? Probably not.

“Oh, man. I could really go for a cheeseburger. Extra cheese. Or steak. Yeah. Well done, absolutely _no_ pink –”

“Are you going to leave?” The fear must have dripped through into his voice. Leon pushed his mouth against Buddy’s neck, his fingers curving patterns on his back.

“’Course not. They just have a habit of yanking me into missions without feeding me up first. Not even rations. Or trail mix. Assholes. You’d think they’d at least give me something on the flight over – oh!”

“Oh? What?”

Leon leaned over him, eyes wide. The wayward strands of hair made him look like a displaying cockatoo.

“Nearly forgot!”

“Forgot _what_? You’re scaring me.”

He was pressed back into the cot, Leon’s body sliding over his. Arms and chest disappeared over the side, and Buddy looked down to see Leon fumbling with his discarded jacket. Their groins rubbed together and his body decided that it was enough to make him stiffen again. His palm found a buttock, stroked down to a muscled calf. Beautiful. Never thought he’d think that about another man, but with Leon the feelings were coming easily today.

A plastic packet landed on his chest. For a moment he thought it was some other strange sexual aid that Leon carried around with him, that round two would turn into some filthy fetish show. _Handcuffs and gags_ , the other independence fighters had joked around flaming barrels, a non-discriminate porn magazine passed between them. The bag didn’t look big enough.

Leon heaved himself back up, slid beside Buddy again. Warm. _Where he belongs_ , Buddy thought, and then threw that away, into a big incinerator in the back of his mind. It was almost like the time one of the children had brought in a baby bird they found in the playground. Don’t get too attached, he had said to them, birds are fragile, especially the chicks. It might be gone by tomorrow. Sure enough, the next day it was a lifeless bundle of skin and feathers. Cue the ‘circle of life’ lesson.

He looked down at Leon, smoothed his hair back into place. Don’t get too attached. What a sick joke.

“Want some of these?” Coloured candy rattled in front of his face. “M&M’s. They’re good.”

They _were_ good. The chocolate shrank his tongue and made him want water, but after half a packet of the damn things the hunger had eased.

“Not quite a steak,” he said when the final shards of broken shell had been swiped from the packet by Leon’s finger.

“No. Good idea, though – beef M&M’s. We’d make millions.”

“Disgusting.”

“For America? You’d be surprised.”

He chuckled, and the sound came so naturally that it surprised him. Hair tangled in his fingers again. Leon’s cheek rubbed his, and the mood changed like a flicked switch.

Their lips pushed together, almost desperately hungry. He tasted chocolate. Urgency. Dread dropped his stomach and he pulled away.

“What time is it?”

A groan, and Leon brought his arm up to check his watch. The only thing he was wearing.

“Two thirty. Don’t worry about it. We still have loads of time.”

A lifetime wouldn’t be enough. He let Leon push him onto his back, felt the tugs as his shirt buttons were undone. Thumbs slid down over his nipples, brushed the wound. When Leon spoke, his voice had dropped into something darker. Not aroused anymore.

“Like spikes, right?”

“Hm?”

“That’s what it feels like. Spikes. Like someone’s jammed a ball of barbed wire right into your chest? It’s their spines. They get excited, they thrash around. And it hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”

“How do you –”

A sigh. Leon slid off the cot, stood naked, his back to him. Shit. Did he do something?

“It… was a few years ago. Doesn’t matter now. Let’s just say that I know what it’s like. And that mine wasn’t voluntary.”

The rebuke stung. Buddy sat up and rubbed at his face. Anger pricked. _Try nearly freezing to death because the government took your home,_ he felt like saying, _see how desperate you become after you wake up next your friend’s body because you were lucky enough to have the extra blanket that night._

Sitting around waiting to die hadn’t been any kind of option at all. Injecting himself with the plaga had been literal suicide. A kamikaze attempt. Take as many down as you can before you go down, hope you can get to the head honcho before they put a dozen bullets in you. That sick sense of finality. The mutually-assured destruction.

No. Leon didn’t know what it was like.

He opened his mouth to tell him that, but the bruises and scabbed cuts caught his eye. A big yellow-green blotch spread from between Leon’s shoulder blades all the way down to his lower back. No doubt from where Svetlana’s BOW had decided to use him as a softball.

He had saved Leon with his own BOW. Then Leon had saved him.

He wanted to get up, soothe that blemished skin with his hand and pull Leon back onto the cot, but the next words killed any hint of arousal.

“You going to go back to teaching after this?”

He shrugged, shuffled, and looked down at the floor.

“No.”

“No? Why the hell not? You liked doing it, right? And you were probably good at it…”

“I just can’t. Drop it, Leon.”

“Nu-uh.” Leon turned around, and Buddy couldn’t help the quick glance up and down his body. “No way. Tell me. What the hell else are you going to do, _Sasha_?”

To his eternal shame, he flinched. Flinched too hard to pass it off as a simple twitch.

“JD told you.”

_Idiot. If you weren’t dead I would kill you._

But even that thought hurt.

“Yeah. He told me some stuff. He just wanted me to help you –”

“That story wasn’t his to tell. He had no right.”

Hands gripped his shoulders. Steel fingers dug into his skin, squeezed hard.

“He was your friend! Fucking dammit, Bud— Sasha! Don’t you think you owe it to him to keep going, owe it to Irina? How many times am I going to have to grab you and try and get this through your thick skull?”

“It’s not any of your business, American.”

“Of course it’s my business!” He was pushed back into the wall. Leon’s eyes blazed, and for a second Buddy was actually scared of him. “After all we’ve been through, you really think this is nothing but a quick fuck for me? Why the hell aren’t you letting me in?”

He leaned forward, thought about snarling, letting go and telling him how it all felt. To lose everything. To gain something back, even if it was just a little, tiny bit of happiness in a dusty, dirty bunker that stank of mould and rotting rats. To know it would be lost again. And something deeper, under that –

He grabbed the back of Leon’s neck. No pretence. His grip was hard. Their mouths came together again, no longer an ‘I want to fuck you right now’, but a submission. Fine. Fine, you win.

“Sit down,” he said, and the rasp in his voice wasn’t arousal. A frown creased Leon’s forehead, but he let go of Buddy’s shoulders and sat beside him, staring at the opposite wall. His little mock-pissed show almost made Buddy smile.

The watch ticked in the silence. A countdown.

Buddy turned his head to the side, coughed out a tickle in his lungs. His hand landed on Leon’s thigh. An accident, but one that suited him.

“I killed men. I won’t justify that to myself by saying it was war. I shot men. I killed them with BOWs. Do you really think I could go back to teaching children after that?” He felt a hand over his own, took a deep breath. “It feels like I’m sick. Corrupted. Like it’s a disease and I’d somehow give it to them. Do you understand? Being a soldier is your job. Mine used to be about helping, caring. What the fuck am I now?”

His voice caught, and he choked back a sob. Remnants of the alcohol tried to coax him into burying his head in his hands and crying for all he was worth, but he snuffed it all back until it became a tight pressure behind his eyes.

He missed teaching. Good Christ, he missed it.

“I understand.”

He snorted at Leon’s words. The hand over his moved to his knee. Almost enough to bring his arousal back. “I do, Buddy. After Raccoon I thought I’d never go back to being normal. I’d seen dead people come back to life and eat others. I saw people fuck over everything, even their own families, just because they had some serious workaholic issues. Becoming ‘normal’ again was terrifying, because it was no longer normal.” He drifted for a moment, and Buddy knew he had lost himself in the past. He patted Leon, gently.

“Leon –”

“‘Normal’ became peering around corners and jumping at shadows. Refusing to go out at night, because, God dammit, if I was going to die then I wanted to die in my apartment, not out on the street.”

Their eyes met, and to his surprise, Leon was smiling. “Got myself a damn good psychiatrist, and some damn good friends. It gets better. Might not feel like it right now, but it does. You’re what, about my age? Still pretty young. We’ve got our lives ahead of us,” he said, and his arm went over Buddy’s shoulder, “it’s not too late for anything.”

He tried to reply, but the lump in his throat made it difficult. Instead he swallowed and nodded. Leon kissed his cheek.

“Can I ask you to make me another promise?”

He thought about saying no, then:

_Don’t be stupid. You’d put a bullet through your skull if he asked you to._

“What is it?”

“Do what you love. You love teaching? Go back to it. Take care of kids. You won’t hurt them, or corrupt them. But if you spend all your time wallowing in angst and misery… well, you might as well cut off your own head and send it to Svetlana with a nice bouquet of roses. How happy do you think she’d be if she knew she’d fucked over your entire life?”

Too damn happy. The image of her rose in his mind, smirking. He couldn’t find an appropriate word in English or Russian for her. ‘Cunt’ came close, though. Really close.

“I promise I’ll try.”

“Good enough, I guess.” Leon’s hand reached down, across Buddy’s hip and rubbed at his inner thigh. “So,” he said, and then didn’t have to say anything else.

Svetlana’s face faded in a rush of heat. Amazing how much lighter he felt, how much bolder. His jacket and shirt were slipped off by Leon, and he took care of his trousers, underwear and shoes. The air in the room was now on the right side of tolerable and he sat for a moment, just enjoyed the sensation of being naked.

A tongue, then teeth, brushed his neck. He tilted his head to the side. Sighed. That was nice.

Across his inner thigh, the hand rubbed slow. No more urgency. Who cared what the time was.

On his back again, and this time Leon straddled his hips. His smile promised something wicked and his finger drew a circle in the air.

_Roll over._

The past year had been a haze of survival. Eyes everywhere, had to look everywhere, watching out for the glint of light on steel. The image of a knife in his back while he lay on his stomach, helpless and surprised, was one he couldn’t shake.

Leon leaned over him. His hand touched Buddy’s hip, pushed.

“Not gonna hurt you, Buddy-boy.”

“I _know_ ,” he whispered, almost annoyed at his own embarrassment. One snap-decision, more out of defiance than anything, and he jerked onto his side, then his stomach.

Anticipation escaped him as a long breath.

The first touch traced his shoulder blade. He flinched. The touch again, this time rubbing the back of his neck. Not unpleasant.

He rested his head on his folded arms. Drifted.

Two hands, fingers splayed, stroked tension and aches away. They lingered over scars. Thumbs pressed deep, rolled. Rhythmic grunts became a purr.

The hands moved down along his spine. His lower back was explored, fingertips caressing with an almost questioning pressure. They played down further, to the top of his buttocks and then across them.

He stopped making noise when they dipped, cautious, between his buttocks. When he stopped, they stopped. Waited. He didn’t move. Something rose in his chest, between his eyes – a giddy, swaying thrill. Like swooping down. Like freefall.

Leon’s chest was warm against half of his back, and his mouth nuzzled his throat and ear. He was saying something, the words dark and loving, but in the freefall, Buddy could only hear tone.

“Shut up,” he said, no hate there to begin with, “shut up, and just do it.”

A smile against his ear.

A kiss.

Weight lifted off him. Clothing rustled nearby. His muscles tightened themselves into knots and his ears pricked up. His erection was crushed between his own stomach and the canvas of the cot.

He waited.

The fingers came back when the mouth did. Teeth touched his shoulder, bit down a little. A tiny hurt. A nice hurt. The fingers ran up and down, scraped the sensitive skin between his buttocks, the slippery sensation familiar. On the other end now. Flipped around.

A pause, and then he was penetrated, eased open. He bit his own arm. Didn’t hurt, but God that felt weird. Leon’s breath blew in a hard rhythm over the back of his neck. Things slipped a little, turned back into the insanity that was beginning to feel like an old friend.

Swooping. Freefall. He hadn’t realised how long Leon’s fingers actually were. Two of them crossed, slid deeper and twisted. Something sparked – not quite pleasure, but damn close. He made a thick noise, pushed his hips back. Leon’s breathing turned staccato.

Empty. He moaned into his arm, rubbed up against Leon and down into the cot.

“Move,” said Leon, “up. Onto your knees.”

Freefall again, and the sound of his voice had pushed him over the edge. He obeyed, clumsy, eager. 

His forehead rested on his arms. Legs moved apart. Hands on his hips, hot and caressing. Everything crawled, slow, like time itself was ticking through honey.

A gentle nudge, then a supernova of sensation. His eyes unfocused, and the quick inhale sounded far too loud. Pleasure receded in an uncomfortable tightness. Was it always like this? He grunted, shifted when Leon draped over him. A hand wrapped around his cock, coaxed some of the arousal back. Leon whispered his name, _‘Sasha’_ this time, not Buddy. It should have sent guilt wrenching at his gut, should have conjured up images of Irina and every time she had whispered it too.

Instead, he moaned a reply, felt himself stiffen in that fist.

Leon settled inside him, breathing just as hard. He touched the back of Buddy’s neck, one light rub, and then gripped it. Buddy couldn’t help the whine that left him. He was starting to like possessive Leon.

Small thrusts dipped him, shallow and brief. He arched his back and a growl snapped the air. The hand that had wrapped around him stroked, and the pleasure flooded all the way back in. Buddy pushed forward into that fist, growled again. Leon paused, then shifted over him, so far that he could kiss his cheek. Buddy tilted his head, caught those lips with his own. Leon thrust harder.

His ear was captured by teeth. A little more sensation to add to the glowing-hot _need_ building inside him. It wasn’t like scratching an itch, he realised as Leon slammed his hips forward, grunts escaping him every time. It was more like healing a wound. Burning it shut, cleaning it. Cutting away dead flesh, poison. Corruption.

The need bloomed between his legs. He hissed and felt the pleasure unfold, hands clutching the blankets until his knuckles turned white. Leon murmured into his ear, dark and desperate, something that could have been _‘come for me, baby, come on,’_ but, in the roaring, blood-filled haze of his mind, lost all meaning.

Tighter, harder, and then Leon stilled behind him, breath hitching to one final point.

_Jesus, he’s coming already –_

Air blew out over his neck in short bursts, dragged from the depths of Leon’s lungs. Hands clenched, bruising.

“God,” Buddy breathed, still tangled in the web of ecstasy and arousal, “Leon…”

What answered was a feline snarl. Buddy imagined him, head thrown back, hair falling over one eye, his mouth open – the very picture of an orgasm. A work of art.

After a long, shuddering pause, there was no sound.

Sweat dripped from his forehead. Pressure against his back, Leon’s chin, probably, or his hand. No more thrusts, and his cock urged him to move, push forward and encourage more pleasure. He made a small noise, low and pleading.

At long last, the slow drag of voice.

“Fuck. B… Buddy.”

Back to Buddy again. He didn’t mind; what he minded was the constant insistence of his twitching erection.

A hand examined him, soothing, but clinical at the same time. He thrust against it.

_No, I didn’t._

“Turn over,” said Leon, his voice still a mangle of arousal. Buddy couldn’t have got onto his back fast enough. A quick flash of blue eyes, and then Leon’s head was between his legs. Buddy arched again, and his eyes clenched shut as Leon took him into his mouth. It wasn’t like last time, just working to get him hard and settled. This time it was endgame, working him towards his climax.

Harder than last time. Faster than last time.

He stroked hair, cheeks, brushed the tips of his fingers over a jaw and felt the lips that circled his cock. He was getting close.

Root to tip, and every inch in between, was tasted by the eager flicking of Leon’s tongue. Buddy’s leg rested on a shoulder, invited Leon to take him deeper. Muscles clenched, and he could swear he felt himself being swallowed.

The need built in a steady rhythm. He strained up, hips flexing, but before he could begin to tip over into the bliss of an orgasm, the fingers returned, thrust into him. A cry left his throat. His own fingers knotted in hair, and everything built higher, higher –

His orgasm wrenched every part of him out, spilled him into Leon’s mouth. He tipped over that edge. Plummeted downwards. Lights sparked behind his closed eyes and he jerked, waves breaking over him. His breath stopped, forced tight in his lungs.

Leon stayed on him until the pleasure had turned from roaring heat into a pleasant burn. Buddy let the breath whoosh out in a long stream and cracked his eyes open. The ceiling glittered with white, then red as he blinked.

His senses returned little by little. When he propped himself up on his elbows, he saw Leon turn his head to the side, spit out his seed. He cleared his throat, fidgeted with the blanket. Too hot now to cover themselves up with it.

“Okay?” Leon said, and lay down beside Buddy, covering half of his body with his own. Buddy nodded, and his breath still came out in little puffs.

“Did you… call me baby?”

Leon peered at him through his hair. Something glinted at the corner of his mouth when he smiled.

“Might have. Can’t really remember. Here, you can go against the wall this time, just so I can stretch out a bit. I’m shorter than you – maybe my ass won’t hang over the edge.”

A lie, one he wished Leon had spared him, but he said nothing. The plaster was ice wherever it touched his skin, so he stuffed the blanket between it and his back. Leon nuzzled into his neck again, soft and intimate.

_— Don’t get too attached –_

_— Sick joke –_

 He ran a hand through Leon’s hair. Detachment be damned.

“So, thoughts?” whispered Leon, his fingers tap-tapping on Buddy’s arm like he had a song in his head.

“Thoughts? What, does your poor pet ego need to be fed?” He smiled, pressed his mouth against an ear. “Oh _Leon_ , you were _so_ _big_ –”

“Russian _prick_. I meant, thoughts on what you’re going to do. You made a promise, remember?”

“I need a bigger bed.”

“And a house to put it in, yeah, I know.” A pause, and then, tentative: “A psychiatrist?”

“Maybe.” Over his cold dead – no, morbid thoughts were better left caged at the back of his mind. He’d already had enough of feeling cold, he didn’t want to bring his poor corpse into it as well.

He shivered, nestled closer to Leon. The sweat had dried on his chest, and despite the kerosene heater he was beginning to feel the brush of a chill sweep over him. He grabbed the blanket, wrapped it around them. Cocooned. Perhaps forever.

_No… because you know what comes from cocoons. And they break free, transformed, fly, fly away –_

His arms wrapped around Leon like a child gripping their parent’s trouser leg on the first day of school.

“Wish I could go with you.”

“Oh, now you want to see America?” Leon’s voice dropped from teasing to serious. “But yeah. So do I. Gonna miss you, you weirdo.”

He couldn’t say anything in reply to that, because if he did, it would come out all wrong, all thick and sludgy. So he just hummed, kept his mouth shut and rested his chin on the top of Leon’s head.

“Time for sleep, Buddy-boy.”

Time to let go.

He pulled his arms back, rested them between their bodies. Easier that way, because if he woke up when Leon was about to leave he didn’t trust himself not to cave. The last image Leon had of him wouldn’t be a sobbing, begging thing kneeling on the floor. He would be strong.

The last thing he felt before sleep took him was Leon’s hand on his chest. On his wound. His symbol.

 

-:-

He woke slowly.

For a few minutes, only the ceiling and his breathing existed. He didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to feel the empty space beside him. Didn’t want to have to face things.

The warmth in the room was dying. The chill nipped his arms and toes. Not even his neck was spared. He grunted, tucked all body parts under the blanket, but knew that it was just a matter of time before it was no match for the encroaching cold. Not deadly, but damn annoying.

To hell with being miserable. He needed his clothes back on.

Fast, fast, fast, one leg in the wrong hole, and one of his socks had disappeared.

He found it under the empty packet of M&M’s.

Grief scooped a big hole in his stomach. It felt more like Leon had died than left. Little traces of him still lingered in the room, his scent, the M&M’s packet, the two condoms that still lay on the floor. In a vague kind of way, Buddy wondered which one was which.

When his jacket and shoes were on, he felt a bit better. Trying not to look at the remains of the previous night, he walked to the bathroom, the alcohol nagging his bladder.

The note caught his eye as soon as he walked in.

Written in pen, it was balanced against Leon’s flask, the handwriting scruffy with haste.

_You promised + get more kerosene_

He picked it up, fought between laughing and crying. What emerged was a hybrid, a sob that hitched his throat. He rubbed a hand across his face.

Definitely going to miss the American degenerate.

He folded the note twice, slid it into his trouser pocket.

Yes. He had promised.

He finished in the bathroom, and his stomach yowled like an angry cat. No more skulking around for tin cans in bombed markets. No more trying to drink himself to death.

The door of the bunker creaked when he pulled it open. Sunlight hit his face and made him blink, then smile.

The flask dangled from his hand.

Not too late for anything.

***

**_The End_ **


End file.
